


Atmosphere

by scioscribe



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Weather Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 02:00:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16108451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scioscribe/pseuds/scioscribe
Summary: It took a lot of doing to make weather inside a spaceship.“If it weren’t for how damp it makes everything,” Heimdall said, “I’m sure everyone would be impressed.”





	Atmosphere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Snickfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snickfic/gifts).



It took a lot of doing to make weather inside a spaceship.

“If it weren’t for how damp it makes everything,” Heimdall said, “I’m sure everyone would be impressed.”

Thor wrung out another blanket and smiled weakly at one of his once-loyal citizens, now making her way past him with a scowl and a laundry basket. “Don’t patronize me,” he said under his breath. “I’m not doing it on purpose. Having my abilities untethered is new and the stress…”

“Is plentiful.” Heimdall clapped him on the shoulder. “Believe it or not, I have a solution.”

“That I would always believe.”

Heimdall smiled and something in Thor’s chest twisted around with all the same awkward wet messiness of post-storm cleanup. Heimdall was the one person he could leave no mark on, whatever his mood, whatever their circumstances. He’d trade his other eye to keep Loki around, but it was undeniable that Loki was volatile, still apt to sometimes disappear and come back bearing bushels of fruit or piles of credits--as though those things were sufficient compensation for his absence and Thor’s own damned worry for him. Valkyrie was unflagging but often ill-tempered, with bone-deep sore spots that Thor didn’t always know how to avoid. The Hulk was the Hulk.

But Heimdall had a self-sufficiency and a constancy to him that Thor could only think restful. And, frankly, deeply appealing.

So of course Thor had faith in his plan—whatever it was.

He could have wished for a little more speed of execution, however, as the next day Loki came into his quarters and shook himself all over like a wet dog, sending frost flying everywhere.

“It’s _snowing_.”

“For a god of lies,” Thor said, squinting down at the supply manifest, “you seem to like nothing better than storming up to me and announcing the obvious. ‘It’s snowing.’ ‘You’re missing an eye.’ ‘I told you that was poisonous.’”

“I did tell you that.” Loki sat down in his spare chair and began meticulously combing snow from his hair onto Thor’s desk. He had done this when they were children, too: some things never changed. Then, as now, Thor was mostly happy to be distracted, to be annoyed into giving his brother his full attention.

“I don’t mean for it to be snowing.”

“I know that,” Loki said, which was surprisingly generous of him. “That doesn’t make it any less disturbing, not to those among us who are smart enough to work out that you must be getting that precipitation from somewhere. Do you think anyone likes having snow flurries made out of other people’s sweat? And who knows what else.”

He honestly hadn’t thought of that and now really wished Loki would stop dripping on his furniture. “I can’t believe this is happening. Any other time, I’d be delighted to know the scope of my powers was greater than I’d thought. But no, it has to be now, because apparently everything has to happen now. Why not?”

Loki looked at him uncertainly for a minute and then waved his hand across Thor’s desk, drying it off in a single swipe. He stood. “Well, I just came by to cheer you up.”

“No, you didn’t. And you didn’t.”

Loki hesitated again and then tugged the supply manifest out from under Thor’s hand and rolled it up. “Then I’ll take care of this.” His tone plainly announced that he considered this a heroic sacrifice on his part; having been in battle with the blasted thing for the last two hours, Thor was willing to agree with him. Though he hoped this wasn’t one of the gestures that touched off another one of Loki’s vanishing spells.

It wasn’t, apparently: he had a reordered manifest and carefully-compiled list of stocking requests on top of his face when he woke up the next morning. Show-off.

At least it seemed he hadn’t caused any more storms during the night. There were rumors, though, of crackling electricity high up by the galley ceiling. True or not, it made enough people nervous that all meals had to be moved to the secondary dining room.

“For now, it’s not such a problem,” Valkyrie said. “A little rain here and there, no big deal. And the ship’s big enough, even with our population, that we can avoid any danger zones. Unless we do start getting actual lightning. Then we’re all going to die.”

“A cheery assessment.”

“There are worse ways to go. Worse times.” She looked away. She seemed close to a smile—she was governed by the strangest whims of anyone he’d ever met, and he would have said there was steep competition for the title. “Anyway, Heimdall said to tell you he’s maybe got a fix. This afternoon.”

“So we’re not all going to die,” Thor said. “That’s good to know.”

“Couple of hours still before afternoon, technically.” Again with the smile. “But I’m not too worried.”

As far as votes of confidence went, Thor had heard more persuasive ones, but she proved right: they did all make it to the afternoon intact. They set the _Statesman_ down on a desert world. Thor saw no prospect of getting any of their restocking done there—it didn’t seem fit for even the most meager forms of life. From the observation gallery of the ship, the whole world was as dusty-pale and unmarked as fresh vellum. And just as dead.

“Ready?” Heimdall said, suddenly behind him. He chuckled a little at Thor’s surprise. “You pay too little attention to your surroundings.”

“You can hardly be the judge of that, with it coming so naturally to you. And I don’t even think there’s air here.”

“There’s a bit. Enough for us, if you don’t mind a little giddiness.”

“I shouldn’t mind seeing you giddy, no.”

“Come on, then,” Heimdall said.

Thor followed him out into the parched, lifeless world. Heimdall had been right about the air—it was thin and it burned a little in his chest, but it was breathable, at least for Asgardians, at least for an hour or so. And he couldn’t imagine Heimdall’s plans included them being there any longer than that. He got the general idea of this experiment. Working again with a proper sky, if an unforgiving one, he would produce a storm or two and hopefully tire himself out enough for a few dry weeks back onboard. This must have just been the closest planet.

Heimdall stood there, arms crossed. “Well?”

“Give me a moment to get into the mood,” Thor said.

“I could see if we have a harpist on board. Something low and mellow?”

“It’s good that you’re so comfortable around me, your king, that you feel you can make jokes. When I could obviously have you executed at any time.”

“It is good,” Heimdall agreed in a smooth, neutral voice.

“Though actually I wouldn’t mind the a little music.” He shook out his fingers.

“Just relax. You’ve done so much of late, Thor. You haven’t been losing control of your powers, you’ve been overexerting yourself, trying everything you can to bring life to a faded people. Trying to give us a world, but you can’t make one yourself. But I think maybe you could help one to bloom.” Heimdall was behind him now, his hands weighty on Thor’s shoulders—but not, Thor thought, a burden. Rather, it was grounding. “You want to reach out to your people, but the need of this place is great. Let yourself feel that instead. You know the weather, the soil, the atmosphere. Complete the circuit—grant the request of all that thirsty soil. One need this time. Clean. Simple.”

Thor knelt. Need—he thought of the tangle of the ship, the instability of it all. Heimdall was right, he’d been trying to cure it, give it cycles, stable life. So many little needs that could never be satisfied, for that was not the nature of kingdoms.

But this—

He pressed both of his hands to the earth, which was baked almost into rock and hot enough to burn him. Heimdall was right, this place thirsted. It would drink from him. It would take what he had to give and it would need no more than what he had, and that was so much less exhausting, somehow. He sighed, his breath stirring up a brief cloud of dust. He closed his eyes.

It all came then, not just downpour and the crash of thunder and lightning, but verdant greenery spilling out from where he and Heimdall stood, his magic taking the rain-darkened soil and seeding it with minerals and grass that grew before their eyes, tall stalks of green and deep sapphire blue. This world knew what it was after, what it wanted. Thor saw the golden glow of his seidr shine around slowly-blooming flowers he had never seen before. Slate-trunked trees with geode-like fruit. A riverbed furrowed itself into existence; a lake opened up at the base of a mountain, a quickly-filling repository for new snowmelt coming down from the peak. For there was snow, too.

He had been a key turned in the lock of this place. It was open to life now.

“Fertility,” Heimdall said. “I thought that might be it.”

“What have I done?” Thor said. His voice was unsteady.

“Something I doubt you’ll be able to do again, which I imagine is some comfort to you. There are some powers even kings of Asgard shouldn’t carry for long. But the catastrophe swelled your reserves, as it were, and—most of life is not made for such simple solutions. But this was. And I think it will stop the ship from becoming quite so damp whenever you’re tired or frustrated.”

Thor looked around at the world he had awakened. “We could settle here,” he said hopefully, even though he knew as he said it that they could not.

Heimdall shook his head. “It needs some time without people. And to take Asgard at the height of its civilization and toss us into wilderness, however beautiful, would probably spell our end.”

“No simple solutions.”

“I’m afraid not.”

Valkyrie’s old pain, Loki’s uncertainty, Banner locked away like a spirit in a bottle. All of Asgard tightening their belts. It would be nice to put all of that to bed.

But at least now he felt cleaned-out somehow. He’d been at loose ends, but now a few of them had been trimmed away. It was something.

“I like the thought of this place being here,” he said. “My family sowed plenty of destruction among the stars, it seems. Maybe it’s time we left life behind instead. Something green and new. What do you think?”

Heimdall’s golden eyes met his. “I think I have served many kings in my time, your majesty, but you are the only one I would follow whatever your crown, whatever your title. To old worlds and new.”

The rain had soaked them both, though Thor had hardly noticed it at the time. But it had made Heimdall’s shirt nearly translucent at the shoulders, where the fabric had grown a little thin, and drops of rainwater rested in Heimdall’s unbound hair without falling. They looked like little crystals. The golden armor had always forbidden touch, but this ornamentation invited it.

He allowed his gaze to linger. Heimdall of all people noticed where you looked, and for how long.

Thor said, “Where else would you follow me?”

His answer was unhesitating. “To bed, if you wished it. Or I would lead you there.”

Thor smiled, though he was sure the expression lacked charm or seduction; he was sure it was too tired, too purely pleased. “And you said things could not be simple.”

Heimdall touched his shoulder, the gesture of a thousand days, a hundred thousand repetitions, but now for the first time his hand strayed higher, his thumb tracing an arc against Thor’s throat, his fingers moving up into his beard, a caress of his cheek. “I said it was rare. But you have a habit of doing unlikely things.”

The air was better now, cooler in his chest. The euphoria stayed.


End file.
